


Come On Home (It's Over Now)

by onefootonego (startingXI)



Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Angst, Background Perry/LaFontaine, Canon Typical Violence, F/F, Something that is technically suicide, but dying is a funny thing, pay attention to the angst warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-20
Updated: 2016-11-23
Packaged: 2018-09-01 00:10:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8599279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/startingXI/pseuds/onefootonego
Summary: or: in order to save the future, Laura must face a recent past, and reconcile her present.(featuring a terrible cat, an undead Carmilla, Perry and all her glory, and LaFontaine who really doesn't like paint)





	1. Part I

The first time you die, you are eight years old. You love three things in the world more than anything else - cereal, your mom and your bunny. That night, you lose two of them.

  
It is a car accident. You remember the shearing screams of metal on metal, metal on concrete, the symphony of destruction. You are too young to understand the words your mother is saying, but you hear them and they sound like a pray cut short by the grinding halt of a tipped car. You are upside down, there is blood and glass and you scream for your mother.

  
There are long seconds and then someone, someone rips you from the vehicle. You think at first it's your mom, but blue, unfamiliar eyes look you over and this is not your mom. You remember seeing the vehicle burning, remember biting the hand that saved you, tiny legs carrying you across the pavement.

  
_Momma_

  
_Momma_

  
You had shouted her name, falling on the road and feeling the sharp glitter pierce your tiny palms. It had not stopped you. Your mother had seen your face peering at her, hands holding what was once a door and she had told you to run. To run.

  
You hadn't run, you had reached for her seatbelt, pulling it loose because that's how it worked and your mother, your world, had told you to run. You had shaken your head because she is all you really have in the world, she had pulled you into her arms and that was the last moment you shared before you died.

  
\--

  
You are twenty-one, Toronto is colder than Austrian winters and your apartment is too broken, too old, to retain anything from the space heater plugged into the wall. You sit on your bed, looking up at the stars and you wonder who put them there. Which of residents past had etched their memories into the ceiling with glow in the dark stars.

  
You hear Danny in the kitchen and you bite your lip, the door is closed, she won't notice. You take a deep breath. You hear your heartbeat slow in your chest, you exhale and you feel the magic in the room come alive. It is everywhere around you, all the time you are aware of its twisting, pulsating form. Only sometimes do you use it.

  
Now, when you're so goddamn cold and it's March, it shouldn't be like this, so you pull flames from thin air. You know the incantation by heart, the words barely uttered before tendrils of flames are licking your skin. They do not burn, but you feel their warmth. You watch the flames dance and let them curl up your arm with a hum - you had always loved the fire.

  
You are careful (always) to keep control. Fire has no master and will burn buildings to remind you. Instead you let it envelop your arm, and for a moment you have a burning sleeve of orange.

  
Then you hear Danny knock on your door and you will them away. This time the fire is on your side and it recedes back into the air, taking the heat with them. The magic fades to background noise and you call her in.

  
“Dinners ready.” She says, smiling, she's trying, you remind yourself, she's trying.

  
You walk out to the living room, hands twisting like the flames are still there. You see a smattering of friends and there's pizza and how did you miss them arrive? They seem happy to see you, but there's tension in the air. It's a steady undercurrent that pulls at your patience until it breaks you.

  
“Stop,” you say “Stop pretending like Danny didn't have to beg you to all show up to this.”

  
There's careful silence, Danny is frozen, midway between stopping you and letting you fall.

  
She studies your face and she knows this is the end.

  
“We just wanted to do something nice before you left.” She says finally, Danny is conceding this to you “But if it's too much, you can go.” But she's not a gracious loser.

  
There were plans to leave in the morning, while it was bright, but if this is how the end has come, then you'll go. Toronto is too haunted for you anyway.

  
Without saying a word you put down your plate and unfinished pizza, you turn from the room and walk away. In your bedroom, in the hollow shell of your bedroom you take one last look at a place you used to love. You hear footsteps, Danny. She is standing in the doorway looking at you with shining eyes “I was just trying to do something nice.” She says, her voice cracking.

  
“You shouldn't have.” You reply, voice quiet, voice empty “I'm leaving,” you say, like Danny doesn't know this, hasn't argued this, hasn't begged you to stay.

  
“What's for you in Chicago?” Danny asks, determined it seems to draw this answer from you.

  
“I don't know.” You say, and you pick up the last item left in this place - your camera.

  
You hear Danny saying words but you can't hold them still long enough to hear. You focus your camera, point it at the stars and take a photo. Your memory of this place, your last.

  
You walk past Danny and part of you hates how weak this has made her. How desperate she is to keep you here, doesn't she see you're haunted? Maybe she's haunted too, scared to be alone in this city. You're doing what she should too, get out before the memories consume her.

  
Danny stops short at the top of the stairs “Laura,” she says your name one last time “I'm sorry.” You know she is, you know she is.

  
You make it to your car, put your camera carefully on the passenger seat and climb in. You sit there, still and freezing waiting to hear if she tries to stop you. You know Danny is on the stairs, waiting to see if you'll stay.

  
You won't. You won't.

  
You pull out your phone and call your dad, he picks up on the third ring and you can hear the hockey on the radio, you know he's probably sitting by the fire, steak and hockey “Hey kiddo.” He says and there's the clatter of cutlery on dishes “What's up?”

  
He knows, he always knows “I'm leaving for Chicago.” You say quietly “Tonight.”

  
“You sure?” He asks, failing to mask his worry.

  
“Yeah,” you reply quietly “I'll let you know when I get there.”

  
At this rate you'll be getting there at midnight.

  
“I love you kid.” He says “Drive safe.”

  
You will, you don't say that, but you will. You hang up and look to the porch, Danny is gone.

  
Good, you decide, that's good.

  
\--

  
You cry from the border to Ann Arbor. It starts as a few tears blurring your vision and dissolves to great wracking sobs that make you pull over three times. You sit there on the side of the road, other night shadows passing you by with flickers of light and the faint sounds of talk radio or soft music. Each time you pull out your camera and take a photo. Of the seat, of the mile marker sign, of your eye in the rearview mirror. Memories.

  
\--

  
You arrive in Chicago in the middle of the night, there's a fresh layer of snow and already the salt trucks are shuffling along. You drive along the lake and take glimpses of the skyline in your mirrors - the city feels alive, even on a Tuesday night.

  
You find street parking a few houses down from your aunts place. She lives on what you assume is a busy street for how well lit it is. Orange lamps glow and you catch signs of graffiti shimmering and changing on the side of a building. You grab your duffle bag and your camera from the other seat, taking a long look at the rest of your belongings and not caring if it's here when you get back in the morning.

  
You assume your dad called your aunt somewhere in the nearly nine hours it took you to get here. There's a note taped to the front door and you take another photo before having to pull out your phone just to read it, it's still the middle the night no matter how orange it is around here.

  
There's dinner in the microwave, pick a room. I've got a patient at eight, but I'll be back in time for lunch. See you tomorrow. 

xx  
Maggie

  
You close the front door as quietly as you can and see Leo look up from his perch on the living room sofa. He blinks at you, then puts his head down, resuming his rest. It's exactly the reception you want from the cat who's always hated you.

  
The house is totally dark and stub your toe on the foot of the stairs, cursing quietly as you reach for the railing.

  
“Fuck that hurt.” You whisper and set your stuff on the bottom step, you're not ready for bed yet.

  
You should be, you've been awake for twenty four odd hours and that nine hour drive did nothing but make you ache. You don't say it, there's no one to hear anyway, but crying felt good. Felt like a relief. You had seen the lights of the city rise in the distance and there was something like hope on the horizon.

  
Dinner in the microwave is a slab of cottage pie and a pile of peas. Maggie knows you hate peas, but gives them to you anyway. It's this routine she has of force feeding you vegetables. She's done it since you were a kid, whatever you didn't finish at one meal appeared at the next and the next - you hadn't realized you could out wait food until it was too late.

  
You take the plate of steaming warmth and go to the back deck. It's cold and dark and you can hardly see any stars, but you like the noise of the city. The cars and sirens and hum of life give this city a pulse. You need that reminder. One hand wields a fork, the other twists flames around your arm.

  
“Hey Laura,” you hear as the back door opens and Maggie appears, complete in slippers and a bathrobe, Leo following at her ankles. She runs a hand through your hair as she always has done and sits down next to you “How was the drive.”

  
You take a bite of peas for her and chase them down with a long gulp of water before you answer “Long.” You say, your voice sounds different in the dark.

  
“It's lonely driving at night.” She says, adjusting her glasses.

  
“I liked it.” You reply “Less traffic. I'm sorry for waking you.”

  
“Don't worry about that,” Maggie says with a smile “I don't sleep so well these days anyway. I'm going to make coffee, you want some?”

  
You nod, even though you shouldn't “Please.” You say and you hear her disappear back inside the house.

  
You eat as much as you can, you were starving from missed dinner and crying so you've finished most of the plate. Which will please Maggie, you know. You push the plate away and Maggie walks back out, two mugs in her hand and a packet of Oreos in her dressing gown pocket.

  
“There you go.” She says, placing the mugs on the table “Just how you like it if I remember correctly.”

  
She does, she does.

  
You nod your thanks and roll the mug between your hands. The warmth reminds you of the fire and you feel the magic calling to your bones.

  
“Maggie-” you start “I-” you don't know how to say what you want to say, so you say nothing at all and let the unfinished sentence hang in the dark.

  
You bring the mug to your lips and even though it burns you take a sip.

  
“Your dad told me what happened.” Maggie says quietly, she may not even be speaking to you, she just says the words as they come, letting you hear them when you will.

  
She is so gentle as she speaks.

  
(Even though what she knows is not the truth. Only a fraction of it.)

  
(Your friends are dead)

  
“You're welcome here as long as you want.” She ends with, and you smile into your coffee “Leo will learn to live with you.”

  
“Thanks Maggie.” You say and you hear her stand.

  
She puts a hand on your shoulder and the magic around you seems to calm “Don't be afraid here.”

  
You know what she means, what she's saying without using the words that will scare you. You nod stiffly “Get some rest, I'll have breakfast ready when I come back.”

  
She disappears back inside the house and you tip your head back, willing the tears away. You thought you would be all cried out, but here they are running down your face even as you try and wipe them with your sleeve. Eventually you stop trying and you curl around the coffee mug and sob.

  
\--

  
You blink against the sunlight streaming into the living room and you realize you never made it to a bed. Leo is perched on a windowsill, giving you a filthy look and from the kitchen you hear Maggie humming to herself, the radio quietly underneath it all.

  
“Hi,” you say, walking into the kitchen “How was your patient?”

  
Maggie turns, seeing you and breaking into a smile “They were very good, their teeth however...” She says, putting down a spatula and saying, “Let me look at you.”

  
You stand there, wondering what she could possibly think of your sleep deprived form, with dark shadows under your eyes, and if only she could see how thin you've gotten. Perhaps she sees it all, because she's pulling you into a tight hug moments later.

  
You're stiff at first, but she doesn't let up and you feel yourself melt into her embrace, hugging her tightly. It's been so long.

  
“Set the table.” She says, turning back to the stove and you pretend you don't see her wiping her eyes with a dishcloth.

  
It's a familiar routine, you bring glasses of orange juice out last and Maggie has two plates of bacon, egg and potato scramble “With extra cheese.” She says and you have to smile, it's good to be somewhere that echoes of home.

  
\--

  
Maggie doesn't push you to do anything for the first three days that you're there. So for three days you sit and watch hours and hours of Netflix, eating when told, showering when she guides you to the bathroom. Finally, Maggie appears in the doorway to your room at nine am on the fourth day “We’re going out.” She says “There's a garden exhibition at Navy Pier and my friend Angela bailed on me. You're coming.”

  
You roll over and look at her “You know I love you Maggie, but a garden exhibition? Really?”

  
“The fresh air will do you good. You can bring your camera.”

  
It's the camera that gets you out of bed. You couldn't do another day of photos where there's an episode of Lost Girl playing in the background.

  
“Can we pick up some photo paper while we’re out.” You ask “I-for my photos.”

  
“Of course.”

  
She says it like you needn’t have asked at all “Although there's some by the printer already, you're more than welcome to check if it's the right kind.”

  
You assume it's your dad to thank for that. The camera was his idea anyway, one of his best.

  
\--

  
You stare out the window the entire drive to Navy Pier. You soak up the people on the lakefront path, dressed in as many layers as they can without throwing off thermoregulation. There's a zoo you pass and two, three marinas not yet filled with the first boats of the season. There's so much in the city to see, you clutch at your camera and promise never to tell Maggie you're actually excited for this garden show.

  
She can tell though, of course.

  
You step off the escalators and see dozens of people in line to get into the greenhouse “I didn't think this many people would be in to gardening.”

  
“We’re trying to remember that spring is coming, despite this endless winter. Plus there's supposed to be some really rare flowers this year.”

  
“As opposed to last year when you came?”

  
“Your aunt has a green thumb Laura, you should see my garden in July.”

  
You wonder how you didn't know Maggie kept a garden, or that she went to exhibitions about them.

  
There are some little kids, maybe five or six, in a small circle near the door, they're all peering at one girl in the middle. You wonder, and then you see it, she's got a ball of light glowing between her hands. Concentration is etched into her face and you see a her lose it, the light exploding into a shower of glitter that makes them all shriek in laughter.

  
“You were doing that at her age.” Maggie says “You'd race them with your mom around the room.”

  
“I remember.” You say quietly, wondering how creepy it would be to take a photo of the kids.

  
\--

  
Inside the greenhouse, finally, there's so much to look at. Flowers in every colour you can possibly imagine “I'll meet you at the exit in a couple hours.” You hear Maggie say, you might nod back, you're not sure.

  
You've already got your camera between your hands, you wander slowly. You feel the magic everywhere. There's a stall with no water required flowers, another that boasts pots that will move themselves to sunlight. You imagine Leo chasing a little pot with legs around the house and almost buy one.

  
There are Centaurs, who shift away from curious children's touch. They sell flowers that bloom only in the phase of the waxing moon, each one potted, tended to carefully. You wish you could take a photo.

  
Your first photo is under a spitting water arch. It's clever, every few seconds a jet of water arches up over the heads of the crowd and lands on the other side. You step off to the side, fitting a small cluster of floating daffodils into the frame as the water arches over them.

  
Your second is of a dragon lily, named for the way it unleashes a fiery tongue to kill insects. You watch this display with a crowd of other fascinated spectators and take three more photos there.

  
By the time you make it to the exit, you're ten minutes late and starving. Maggie, clutching two tote bags stuffed to the brim, beams “What did you think?”

  
“I got you something Leo is going to hate.” You say, holding up a bag of your own “One of those sun chasing pots.”

  
“You're right.” Maggie says with a smile “He is going to hate it. But I have just the plant for it.”

  
\--

  
You're sitting in front of your computer, a pile of Five Guys fries next to you and the printer humming as it spits out your photos. You've got a small pile going, your glow in the dark stars, the empty porch, a mile marker sign where you nearly turned and drove all the way to your dads house. The ones that are coming now are lighter, the dragonlily mid belch and the delighted face of a kid in the background. You take it away from the printer as the next page is readied.

  
“Those are really good.” You hear Maggie say and you turn to look at her with a raised eyebrow.

  
“Really?”

  
She walks into the computer room and takes a closer look “You’re talented.” She says and she picks up one of your feet and a bare wooden floor - she shouldn't like it, but she does.

  
\--

  
You wait for the first sunny day to go to the zoo, which seems like it was a bad idea, but you don't mind all the kids. There are school trips everywhere in matching little t-shirts and clutching clipboards as big as their chests. You wander, it seems the sun hasn't brought out the animals like you had been hoping.

  
What catches your attention is an ice carving demonstration. Unmeltable Ice, apparently. You stand at the back of the crowd and watch as the sculptor draws a lions head out of the block. You're still there when they move that one aside and craft the name of the zoo into black ice. There's a flamingo in a pink block and by the time that one is done you've got more photos and it's almost closing time for the zoo.

  
You've barely noticed the entire afternoon slip away.

  
“Hey,” someone says and you jump, it's the sculptor “I'm LaFontaine.” they introduce“You watched a lot.”

  
“Uh, Laura, I’m,” you start, shake your head “God I sound like an idiot, my name is Laura.”

  
LaFontaine smiles “You enjoy the art?”

  
“It's amazing.” You say, then ask “Why doesn't it melt?”

  
“Well,” LaFontaine says and you sit on the stairs as they start to pack up their equipment “Technically it does melt. What I've done is manipulate the foundation so when it melts, it melts all at once, like popping a balloon. Instead of gradually.”

  
“Manipulate with magic?” You ask, you're curious now.

  
“Magic and science, although these days who's able to tell the difference.”

  
They bend down in front of the lion, bringing a small pick to work at one of the teeth and you take a photo. You can't help it. You aren't even sure if you should be doing it, but LaFontaine looks up when they're done and asks “Can I see?”

  
“Sure.” You say, you don't feel like you owe it to the subject to let them see the final result “But let me do this.” You reach into your backpack and pull out your iPad, with the memory chip adaptor. It takes only a moment for the photos to load and your whole album is there for all to see.

  
You hand them the tablet and let them scroll through. You twist magic errantly and snowflakes fall from your fingertips, you barely notice until they start melting into your shoe.

  
“Can I have some of these?. LaFontaine asks “I'm trying to get more photos up for my website, but it's been tricky. I- would you come and actually shoot me? I'll be able to pay you a bit, but the whole starving artist thing is pretty real”

  
“Sure?” You say “I'm not a professional or anything, I just got the camera like a year ago.”

  
“You're great,” LaFontaine says and they look so genuine you don't think they're lying “Would you write your number down on the back of my card and I'll call you? I've got to run, my actual job doesn't like it if I'm late.”

  
You watch them run off with arms full of sharp equipment and wonder if maybe you should have asked to help them.

  
\--

  
You arrive home to the smell of butter chicken and fresh naan. The house is warm, Leo is hissing at a stationary pot plant and Maggie is singing along to a U2 album that might be as old as you are. She doesn't hear you walk in and you sneak a few photos of her all but Live at the Apollo before she notices.

  
She pulls you into a hug, (you're getting used to this again) and asks how your day was.

  
You tell her happily of LaFontaine and the art carvings, and you feel tension relax from your shoulders, dropping from you spine “Today,” you say finally, between, mouthfuls “Was a good day.”

  
Maggie beams and you know she's going to call your dad.

  
\--

  
LaFontaine calls you the next day, asks if you're free this weekend (you are) and invites you to their studio. They say it's not much, it's hard to find good space around the city that doesn't cost an arm and a leg, but her job at the MCA gives her a good deal for what is the equivalent of a closet.

  
“It works though.” They say “Just call me when you're close and I'll meet you in the lobby.”

  
“Of course,” you say, not telling them you didn't even known Chicago had a museum of contemporary art “See you Saturday.”

  
\--

  
You are immediately drawn to explore the depths of the MCA. It sits on the outskirts of downtown, the lake visible from the street, lakeshore drive and it's bumper to bumper traffic exposed.

  
“Laura, Laura,” you hear them say and LaFontaine emerges from a side stairwell wearing an apron splattered in some sort of oozing substance.

  
“Hey,” you smile, it feels like you're greeting a friend, not a near stranger.

  
“You found this place okay?”

  
“Yeah, it's amazing, I've never been.”

  
“Oh man I can give you the tour later.” They say, leading you to the information slash ticket desk “Hey Kirsh,” they greet “I need a visitor ID card.”

  
The man named Kirsch, although he looks to be more a twenty something college student, looks to you “I just need a form of photo ID, drivers license is best, passport works too if you've got it.”

  
“Oh, sure,” you say, handing him your license, as he scans it.

  
“And say cheese.”

  
You look up “What?” There's a flash and you're sure a terrible photo comes up on his monitor.

  
“Good to go.” Kirsch says handing you a plastic card with said terrible photo and your name on it.

  
“He does that to everyone.” LaFontaine explains as you go to the studio wing of the MCA.

  
It makes you feel a little better.

  
\--

  
“This one’s mine.” LaFontaine says, taking out a key and opening a door to a small room. For being small. One wall is entirely window and the view is amazing, it looks across a small park, the buildings extending up and out of eyesight. The room is half lab, half art studio, a bubbling green substance is oozing down the side of its container on a Bunsen burner.

  
“I'm trying to work with water.” LaFontaine says, twisting their hands and letting you stare “Right now the art scene is very paint based, and paint is so, boring.”

  
You know nothing about paint, or what's popular in the art world right now. So you just nod. You feel out of your depth and your pulse starts a steady march to higher rhythms “if you just want to, do whatever you do and I'll photo?”

  
You try to sound sure but your mouth is dry and your heart is thumping angrily against your ribs, a reminder you don't belong here. You don't belong here.

  
“Is there a bathroom?” You blurt

  
You're running down the hallway before LaFontaine finishes telling you where to go. It's red tiled walls and black tiled floors, very shiny, very MCA you decide, trying to calm down.

  
You belong here.

  
It's just photos.

  
You can do photos.

  
You catch your breath and walk back to their studio. This time the camera does not shake against your hands, your head has settled with your lungs.

  
\--

  
You do not think.

  
You let yourself get lost in your surroundings, you photo what calls to you. The cooling pot of green clay (you learn LaFontaine is trying to make it flux in and out of focus as people touch it), the way the light shades a finished sculpture in the corner (marble, their first, their reminder).

  
Hours pass, LaFontaine pulls life out of immaterial and you are in awe. Whatever they say about paint, water you decide, is never boring.

  
\--

  
You're sitting in the lobby of the Water Tower mall, it's a short walk from the MCA and apparently Wao Bao is to die for. You think it must be true; there's a line of people nearly up the escalators waiting. LaFontaine promises that it's worth it, sends you up the escalators to find seating somewhere, anywhere.

  
It's been so long since you've been here.

  
You find a table, in a corner overlooking the escalators and you collapse there. You wouldn't have guessed photography to be such hungry work, but here you are. There's a message on your phone from Maggie, asking if you'll be home for dinner.

  
You tell her you're eating with LaFontaine and it makes you smile because you might actually have a friend.

  
You get a row of emojis that seem to have been pressed randomly in response, which is very Maggie you know.

  
\--

  
It is a set of misplaced keys that changes your life. You are searching all of  
LaFontaines studio looking for them, (I can't go home without them, my girlfr- my roommate will kill me). You do not hear the footsteps that halt in the doorway, only the voices.

  
“Hey Carm, back at it?”

  
You stand up, and lean against the table. You try to ignore the way your mouth goes dry and your heart does a two step. You look at the stranger in the doorway and something is electric there.

  
“Oh, Laura, Carmilla. Carm, this is Laura. She's taking some photos for me.” LaFontaine introduces you.

  
You do remember how to speak, right?

  
You don't know many artists, but you're fairly sure you've never seen one who wears leather pants and a shirt quite that well fitting. You're definitely staring.

  
“Hey,” you choke “you an artist too?”

  
Carmilla, also staring you realize, covers it up much better “Film.” She says “Not quite material for the MCA though.”

  
“Oh, what kind of material is it?”

  
“Time lapse.” LaFontaine says “Goes up to crazy high places and takes photos of the city for hours. Or neighborhoods, she does a lot of cool stuff.”

  
“That's,” you try and find the words but the keys appear, shining in the light under a workbench “I found your keys.” You say, diving for them quickly.

  
Carmilla just looks amused “Well don't let me keep you.” Her gaze slides back to you “It's nice to meet you Laura.”

  
“You too.” And you're fairly sure you squeak.

  
\--

  
You think about Carmilla the entire drive home. You ask far too many questions and LaFontaine teases you for days.

  
After that Carmilla starts showing up in their studio. Brings her laptop, works on photos, talks, you pretend you aren't developing the biggest crush.

  
(You totally are)

  
\--

  
Your first date with Carmilla is to the zoo. It's April and there's a concert there that LaFontaine had mysteriously dropped out of at the last minute. You suspect you have been set up, but when you see Carmilla without her camera bag, and those leather pants that you suspect LaFontaine may have told her you like, nothing else matters.

  
“You ready?”

  
She holds out her hand.

  
Oh yes, this is a date.

  
\--

  
You kiss Carmilla when she drops you off at Maggie's house. She had parked down the block (and around the corner - this is city parking after all) and you continue debating the concert.

  
You pass the liquor store with its flashing lights and gaudy signs in the windows. Your house is so close and Carmilla is making a really great point when you stop short “Can I kiss you?” You ask

  
Carmilla breaks into a smile “Yes.” She says “You may.”

  
You do. You do.

  
\--

  
Dating Carmilla is unlike dating anyone else. She does most of her work at night you've come to discover, and she’ll take you with her. You sit up on the roofs of buildings stories above the rest of the city and you talk. Mostly you debate philosophy, a subject you took one class in, and Carmilla has a PhD for.

  
Maggie notices when keep you coming back from the library with piles of philosophy books. She doesn't ask, but raises an eyebrow. You tell her you're broadening your world view.

  
Kind of true, right?

  
\--

  
Dating Carmilla is also difficult. There are times when she sleeps through the day, or texts you very very drunk at three in the morning. You don't always know what to say to her, for there is darkness in her eyes that she can't shake. You try and ask questions, but she does not always answer.

  
There are times when she disappears for days and you don't hear a word.

  
She always comes back, always apologetic, you search for answers until, well, you find them.

  
It is June when you realize.

  
It is July when she tells you.

  
\--

  
It's July, youre making out with Carmilla lazily against the couch, you've done this plenty of times before. You've never gone further than this, which doesn't bother you, but tonight Carmilla feels hesitant, only a little bit stiff against your body.

  
Again, familiar, you have never pressured Carmilla to go further than this easy making out.

  
“Carm,” you ask, running a hand through her hair “You okay?” She lets out a suppressed sigh and you roll off her, sitting next to her on the couch “What's going on?” You ask

  
“There's something you have to know.” She says finally, looking at you “You need to know.”

  
Your pulse has never been so high. You hear words of calm, of comfort fall from you and you don't know how you can say them when you are so, so scared.

  
“I am” she hesitates, you feel it swell in the space “a vampire.”

  
You look at her and smile (you are so relieved those are her words), reaching for her hand “Carm,” you say quietly “Carm look at me.”

  
It takes a long moment, but she does, finally “I know.” You say with a smile “Figured it out a while ago.”

  
She stares at you “Say that again?”

  
You sit up, reaching for her hand “I know,” you say slowly, kissing her “that you're a vampire.”

  
“How?” She asks and it's funny, it is, this total disbelief that she holds, like you wouldn't have figured it out.

  
“Lack of heartbeat gave you away first.” You say easily, you're so, so close to her, you want to kiss her “Then there's the soymilk container full of blood.” You laugh, kissing her jaw “You're a bowl short because of that.”

  
“You're amazing.” Carmilla says reverently “Do you know that?”

  
“I may have heard.”

  
“It's true.” Carmilla says, letting you take off her shirt for the first time “It's true.” She gasps as you lay her down on the bed, kissing down her chest.

  
That night you show her how true it is.

  
And she makes you see stars.

  
(you love her. you love her. you will tell her.)

  
\--

  
Carmilla asks you only once why you left Toronto. You stiffen in the dark, your hands stopping it's tracing of her thigh. Your breath catches in your chest and you don't know what to say. She turns in your arms and kisses an apology into your neck.

  
“It's okay.” She says quietly “It's okay.”

  
“Too many memories.” You choke.

  
“I understand.”

  
She had told you some of her secrets, in the dark, on rooftops overlooking a city of three million, but not all of them and you know the weight of centuries rests on her heart. You have seen it in her eyes.

  
\--

  
You have nightmares of the darkness choking you from the inside out. When you wake Carmilla is stroking your hair and you feel magic receding from your fingertips.

  
(you apologise for burning her sheets. Carmilla kisses you and tells you there are other sheets)

  
\--

  
You're in boystown, three drinks in and the happiness you have cultivated is about to be shattered. Carmilla has a hand in your thigh when all of a sudden her head snaps and she's looking out the window at something. You follow her gaze and your blood, your entire being freezes.

  
No. no. Gods no.

  
Standing there, looking as if he's about to step off the curb, is a man. You hardly know him as a man, it is the eyes, they glow red in the growing dusk and you can not breath. He wears the same dark suit, black on black on black and oh god you thought - oh god you thought he was gone.

  
“Let's go.” Carmilla is saying quickly, does she know?

  
You do not know if she sees him too.

  
\--

  
_It had been a joke. Summon a god they had said. This one isn't real they had said._

_  
Foolish. Foolish._

  
\--

  
You are in Carmilla's car. She is driving very fast. You do not remember how you got here, but there is no panic. Carmilla glances over “You with me?” She asks, her voice twisted like she's asked you that before.

  
“Yeah, yeah.” You say hoarsely, you feel your hands shaking, your heart triple time against your ribs.

  
“You sure?” Carmilla asks, looking at you again from the drivers seat.

  
“No.” you say reply “Did you-”

  
“I did.”

  
Oh.  
\--

_  
He stands before you, flames and fury and the embodiment of darkness. Creyo. A God who lost to the beginning of the Universe._

_  
A myth they had told you._

_  
So you had slain him._

_  
How foolish it seems to believe that you, and your human magic, could have killed a god._

  
\--

  
You're numb, sitting on Carmilla's couch as she downloads thousands of photos to a computer. She had seen him too. That is all you think about, hands twisting magic in the air - if Carmilla notices the snow on her carpet she isn't saying.

  
“Laura.” Carmilla is saying quietly, she is kneeling in front of you, hands on your knees “Laura look at me.”

  
“You're safe here.” She says “He can't get you here.”

  
“How-”

  
“I will tell you, but not yet. Okay? I need you to trust me.” She kisses your forehead, pulling you close.

  
You nod numbly, “Of course.”

  
\--

  
_Three of your friends are dead. Their lives taken by this demon god. Creyo. He is laughing, he is getting stronger. It's only you and Danny left, and Danny, she is great at many things, but magic has never been one of them._

_  
‘I have to try.’_

_  
‘You might die’_

_  
‘We might die either way Danny.’_

  
\--

  
“What do you mean she saw him too?”

  
“I'm telling you she is practically catatonic and you're the genius who went to medical school, so help her.”

  
“Carm-”

  
“I didn't say you graduated.”

  
There are footsteps, you hear them, register them faintly “Laura can you hear me?”

  
You look up, suddenly really thirsty “Can I get some water?” You ask “And Maggie, she - she doesn't know where I am. I don't want her to worry.”

  
LaFontaine disappears, you assume to the kitchen and Carmilla sits down next to you “Laura,” she says quietly “can you look at me?” She kisses your forehead as you try and take deep steadying breaths “You're okay.” She whispers.

  
“You saw him.” You say quietly, clutching to her “Creyo.” You continue “How?”

  
“I did.” She says, her voice a whisper against your ear, she rocks back on her heels, reaching for her laptop.

  
You are stuck in some space between panic and terror, Carmilla scrolling through dozens of photos. Photos of Creyo.

  
You look at her “How?”

  
She looks at you, LaFontaine is sitting across the room, on the loveseat and Carmilla explains “I thought it was chance, him being in a few of my photo sets. Maybe it was, but he, Creyo, he started showing up in March.”

  
When you got here you realize.

  
You never killed him.

  
Water is handed to you, more explanations with it.

  
“Since then, the nights have been unseasonably long in Chicago. The moon and stars far less bright, even when counting for the city light pollution.” LaFontaine explains.

  
“The origin of darkness and all his descendants.” You say quietly “I thought I killed him.”


	2. Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some heavy warnings for this second part: canon typical violence, something that is technically suicide and plenty of darkness. 
> 
> if you would like more information about any of the warnings please do not hesitate to ask!

You listen to Carmilla and LaFontaine argue. You are coming out of your panic induced disassociation. You hear them first, hushed words against city life. 

 

“She’s my ex Carmilla.” 

 

“She's also one of the few people in the history of time qualified and informed enough to help us solve the apocalypse. So you're going to have to learn to act nice while Perry is around.” 

 

“I already have to live with her.”

“Is that what you're calling staying at JPs place and only going home when you know she's working?” 

 

Long, angry pause. 

 

“I'm going to get food. If you want Perry here, you can call her.” 

 

There's a slamming door and the soft sound of Carmilla cursing. 

 

\--

 

You're in some of her clothes, you realize, an old The Clash shirt and a pair of old shorts. You wonder if Maggie knows where you are. You wonder if she's worried. 

 

You walk quietly across the hardwood floors to the living room, you see Carmilla sitting there in front of a silent tv. She turns, an arm resting across the back of the couch “Hey love,” she says quietly. 

 

Your heart stutters in your chest and you smile. She walks over to you, you pull her close and kiss her. 

 

You are alive. You are alive. 

 

“Thank you.” You whisper into her mouth. 

 

\-- 

 

Perry is powerful, you feel it the moment she walks in the room. You look up at once and she's standing there, looking slightly reluctant to be here. 

 

“You must be Laura.” She says 

 

“Yup.” You say between mouthfuls of cereal. 

 

“What you did was brilliant, if not reckless.” She says 

 

No one has put the releasing of a demon god quite that way before “Thanks?” You reply

 

“You're welcome.” She says “Is Mircalla around?” 

 

“Who?” You frown. 

 

“She means me,” Carmilla says rounding the corner and walking into the room “Perry you don't have to show off just because you've known me the longest.” 

 

“I'm not showing off.” Perry says “I'm calling you by your name.” 

 

“A name I had three hundred years ago.” You hear Carmilla remind her “Or do you want to be called Lillian.” 

 

“You two have known each other for three hundred years?” You ask quietly. 

 

“Something like that.” Perry says “I keep dying and I keep reincarnating just in time to run into her again.” 

 

You wonder what Perry is, but you don't want to ask. 

 

Carmilla pours a glass of blood and comes to sit next to you, an arm around your shoulders “Perry is going to help us defeat Creyo.” She says seriously “We can't do it without her.” 

 

\-- 

 

You have to leave when LaFontaine and Perry start fighting. You don't even know why, just that Carmilla is all of a sudden saying you have to go home and pack and she had better come back to her apartment in one piece. You think she's serious, and again, you wonder. 

 

She holds your hand as the city passes you by, she knows the way to Maggie's by heart now. Although she's never gone inside. 

 

Today is that day. 

 

You open the front door and immediately smell dinner “Maggie?” You call out, “You home?” 

 

“In the kitchen Laura.” She says 

 

You find Carmilla's hand and lead her through the house. Leo takes one look at her and all but jumps on her shoulder. It's a good sign.

 

\--

“Maggie, this is Carmilla, my girlfriend. She's a vampire. Carm, this is Maggie. She was my moms best friend. Raised me until my dad could get pulled out of the navy.” 

 

Maggie looks at Carmilla skeptically and you feel the air draining from the room “You have made Laura very happy.” She says, Carmilla's hand relaxes in your “Don't fuck it up.” 

 

“Maggie!” You choke 

 

\-- 

 

There's dinner first. Entirely of vegetables and you eat as much as you can, which might be Maggie's first clue. 

 

Her second comes as you hand Carmilla a blood bag from the basement spare fridge (‘uhm’ ‘I keep a well stocked house’) and you share a look. 

 

\--

The sky is smeared with pinks and purples and deepening blues. You are sitting in Maggie's garden, surrounded by green and glowing, the colors more vibrant in the growing dark. Carmilla is curled next to, basically on top of, you. She and Maggie are talking quietly, their voices falling into the medley of the city. 

 

Perhaps you're dozing, you're not sure. Here in this quiet place the world seems to slow and you have never appreciated a garden more. 

 

\--

“I love you.” 

 

Maggie pulls you into a bone crushing hug, “Be safe.” 

 

You wonder how she knows, perhaps you can't hide the danger that has risen up from your past to consume your future. 

 

“I will.” 

 

You have never lied to her before. 

 

\-- 

 

Carmilla drives the long way back, taking you past the sweeping ink of the lake and rush of city lights. You hold hands across the stick shift, and talk quietly, comfortably - this is after all, Carmilla. 

 

“Maggie loved you.” You say with a smile. 

 

“Well what did you expect cutie.” But you know she's thrilled “I want to take you somewhere.” 

 

You squeeze her hand and rest your head against the window. You wish you could spend infinite nights like this. 

 

\-- 

 

She takes you to a park hugging the lakeshore. You walk, hand in hand to the distant edge of the pier and look at the city. You press yourself against Carmilla, hands wrapping around her waist and listen as she names every building in the skyline. She moves on to the stars. 

 

“There's so much you can't see,” she says, and in that pause you tell her. 

 

“I love you.” 

 

Carmilla says very quietly, talking to you and the stars alone “I have waited a long time to hear those honest words from someone's lips.” 

 

You kiss her. You kiss her. 

 

\-- 

 

The first sign of the end is in blackouts. They ripple across the city leaving electrical systems in tact and confusing the most knowledgeable. 

 

Perry, as you all sit sweltering in Carmilla's living room, says Creyo is getting stronger. 

 

In his darkness she tells the story that was told to the earth, of Creyo and his descent. 

 

“They say,” she starts, sounding very old and very calm “that in The Beginning, there were nine. They were, are, the gods of gods. This was in a time before the universe, it was darkness and Creyo was the almighty of them all. Of the nine, four sacrificed themselves to become the heart, the lifeblood of a universe. The five remaining were guardians of time. All except Creyo, who plotted the destruction of their creation from the darkest edges of the universe. He was never strong enough, not over millennia, to defeat the light. Until he was summoned.” 

 

You're shaking by the time she's done, Carmilla's hand is gentle on the back of your neck. 

 

“So it's the end of the universe.” LaFontaine says. 

 

They don't mean to be unhelpful but - 

 

“How do we stop him?” Carmilla asks for you, your throat has squeezed itself shut, your eyes are burning bright with tears, there is a snowstorm on the edge of Carmillas couch. 

 

And she holds you. 

 

For this, Perry is prepared. 

 

“On the next full moon, it will be our only chance.” 

 

“How do we do it?” You ask, voice foreign to you in the darkness. 

 

“There is only one way. To find the blade named Zubhra and to it draw the light of the first star. Only with this can Creyo be stopped.” 

 

“So all we need to do is stab the guy?” LaFontaine asks 

 

“You are forgetting,” Carmilla says “that he is the darkness, every shadow, every creature of it, is him.” She pauses, her hand still on your back “Including vampires. It is a miracle he was stopped the first time.” 

 

You know they are looking to you. There has always been a great power in you, you've known this since gasping back to your to your eight year old body all those years ago. 

 

\-- 

 

There are three weeks until the next full moon. You tell yourself in the morning you will prepare, tonight you crawl into Carmilla's bed and pull her close. There are apologies spilling from your lips and she kisses them away. She presses herself closer when your entire body starts to tremble, and you tell her, through broken words, of Toronto. 

 

\-- 

 

_You are met by darkness and the answer comes easy. Light. You pull at the magic, creating what has always come easiest, you bring flames to this fight. Flames with an allegiance to you and it shows as they burn brighter and brighter. Words are rising in your threat, ancient and terrible, they are not you own but it is your voice that says them._

 

You hear Danny screaming. 

 

You hear him, it, laughing. 

 

Maybe this will not work and you will succumb to flames for a second time. 

 

He is howling. You will never forget this cry. 

 

And then there is blinking brightness, the fire is returning to your hands, to twist itself back into magic. You collapse, tears streaming down your face. 

 

Your friends are dead, and so is the evil that took them.

 

\-- 

 

You have never told anyone. Not even Danny who asked and asked. Carmilla who asked once but never pushed, and perhaps that's why you tell her. She kisses away your tears, her thumbs running across your cheekbones and she doesn't have to say the words for you to understand them. 

 

“You are not a monster.” She says later, kissing your collarbone “I have met them, they would not recognize you.” 

 

You wonder if Carmilla recognizes herself. 

 

(you know she has done terrible, terrible things. she has told you. you have held her as she gasps) 

 

\-- 

 

“Laura,” Perry says, mornings later “there are things you have to know.” 

 

You push away your Nutella toast and follow Perry to the balcony. You know she is being gentle “There are rites, as the summoner, that you must perform. You must,” she pauses “you must summon him again. For the final encounter. You have the power to heel him for a moment. I will give you as much as I can, as much as I have to, but Creyo is older than me a hundred times over. You must say the words as I tell them to you.”

 

“I will.” You promise. 

 

“I know.” Perry replies. 

 

She tells you of ancient spells, words she dare not even write down. This is feeling very, very real. 

 

Later, when Carmilla comes back, you wonder if she can taste the power on your lips. 

 

\-- 

 

It is almost time and the blade, Zubhra is nowhere. You have heard many a late night conversation venting the frustrations. Until, finally, there is news. 

 

It makes Carmillas eyes darken, she looks to Perry and asks, very firmly “Are you sure?” 

 

“Yes,” Perry replies “I'm sorry Carmilla.” 

 

You have never heard Perry call her anything but Mircalla before. It tells you, whatever that place is, Silas, is a place that haunts Carmilla. 

 

“It is,” Carmilla says “my mothers estate.” She is very stiff and very dark and she's gone in a poof before you can find the right words to say. 

 

Her mother? 

 

You look to Perry, who says “It's not my place to explain.” 

 

Carmilla doesn't return until late, late in the night. 

 

\--  
When she does return she is very drunk, mumbling in a language that might have been German in 1680. She appears in her room, the room you have shared now for months, swaying as the smoke of her arrival dissipates. 

 

“My mother will try to kill you.” She pauses, long and unsteady “My happiness is something she enjoys taking away from me.” She sits down on the bed, says words you don't understand until later “Du bist mein glück.” 

 

You pull her close, feel the fragile space where her heart had once beat and the trembling bones in her body. Tonight, you know, she is afraid. Tomorrow she will be angry. 

 

\-- 

 

Your first fight comes from worry and fear. Carmilla, certain in that you would not be coming to Silas, has told you as such. You, certain that you are not some fragile thing to be protected, have not accepted that. 

 

“Laura,” she says sharply

 

“I can handle myself.” You interject hotly 

 

“Laura,” Perry says, she's sitting at the table watching “it is not a matter of your abilities. We can call agree that you can handle yourself. This comes down to what Lilith Morgan will do when she sees that Carmilla is in love with you.” 

 

“She will kill you.” Carmilla says “Or make me do it.” She adds, you see Perry's breath catch in her chest “She has done it before.” 

 

There was a moment there, of eye contact you share. Carmilla has never begged, but you guess, from the flicker in her eyes, that if you keep resisting, she will. You must relent. 

 

“Okay.” You say quietly and her entire body relaxes “I'll spend the weekend with Maggie.” 

 

You do not like this, but you must do it. 

 

\-- 

 

That night, Carmilla tells you the story. 

 

She sits by the window, looking out at the city lights. You, curled behind her, listen as she speaks with as much as you have ever heard in a voice before. 

 

“Her name was Elle.” She whispers “We were in France, so happy and desperately in love when Mama found us. It was 1867. She took me first, locked me away for ten days, starved me. I was so young, I had no self control. The first time Elle saw me for what I really am, my lips were already at her neck. I killed her.” 

 

“She wasn't done.” Carmilla says “She locked me away, in a coffin, buried under a church where no one would hear me. The next time I saw the sun, tasted blood, it was World War II. I emerged from the dirt, crazed and feral, surrounded by the dead or dying.” You watch her swallow hard “I fed for three days before I could stop myself.” 

 

“That,” Carmilla finishes quietly “is why you can't come.” 

 

You understand, of course you do. You kiss her neck and murmur in the soft well of her shoulder “I love you.” 

 

She curls against your chest, the pair of you sitting in this window seat and watch the summer storm roll through. Carmilla doesn't move, her hand resting against your chest, tapping out the rhythm of your heart. 

 

\-- 

 

They leave on a Friday morning. Neither Carmilla nor Perry will say where they're headed - despite you and LaFontaine asking. Carmilla is in an outfit you would only describe as her war clothes. 

 

You notice she tends to wear the tight leather pants, the black fitted shirt and her leather jacket on the days when she's angriest. Today you do not need to question why. She's in the boots you bought her, they're polished, laced. She is holding your hand against her leg as she drives, her fingertips resting in the fluttering vein of your pulse. 

 

“I'll be back Sunday.” She is saying “I'll come straight to Maggie's.” 

 

You nod. 

 

You aren't mad at her, you understand the risks in what she and Perry are doing by simply approaching Lilith. But you worry all the same. It's consuming you, the knots in your stomach are swollen and tense. 

 

“Laura.” Carmilla is saying, and you realize the car is parked. 

 

You're in the alley, Maggie's bright red gate is immediately to your left. 

 

“I'm sorry.” Carmilla apologises in the still. 

 

“Don't be.” You say hearing your voice waver “Just be safe.” You're begging in your own way. 

 

Carmilla waits until you're both out of the car and you have your hips against hers against the passenger door, to reply “I love you.” 

 

You kiss her. You kiss her. 

 

“I have something for you.” She says, pulling out a bracelet wrapped in fine cloth. 

 

It's a simple band, silver and nothing else “Wear this.” Carmilla explains “Perry made it. No vampire will be able to touch you.” 

 

“What about you?” 

 

“Not even me.” 

 

You take it carefully, it stays wrapped in cloth as you lean forward to kiss her. You feel the tears coming and you fight them, even as you grip to the collar of her leather jacket. 

 

“Cupcake,” Carmilla whispers “I'm coming back.” 

 

Your voice is a choked sniffle “You better.” 

 

“I will.”

 

\--

 

She does. 

 

Perry appears at Maggie's front door covered in blood and other things. She is holding Carmilla in her arms and god is her wrist supposed to be like that? Maggie appears by your shoulder and knows what to do. 

 

For all that Perry is some sort of half goddess, she is pale under dirt and mud. Her eyes are wide and there is something terrible behind them. She lays Carmilla out on the kitchen table, you have been this scared before. You have. 

 

You reach for Carmilla's hand, watch in horror as the contact burns her. A cry escapes her lips that kills you. The bracelet. You fling it across the room, watch as Maggie appears. 

 

She is carrying a brown leather box you have never seen before. 

 

You witness four blood bags poured down Carmilla's throat. No change. Is she dying? 

 

There is panic inside of you. Twisting higher it choked you when Carmilla vomits blood and black across the floor. 

 

“It had to be fresh.” Perry says finally from her haze “Lilith, she-” 

 

You do not wait to listen. Carefully you roll up your sleeve, Maggie's hand on your shoulder. You sit on the edge of the table, cradle Carmilla's head in yours and raise your forearm to her mouth. 

 

It is instinct when her fangs sink into the soft flesh of your body. 

 

Seconds pass, Carmilla tastes your blood for the first time and you hope it will save her. There is a moan, her eyes flutter open. You see the shock when she realizes what she's doing, but you coax her to drink further. 

 

She refuses. 

 

She tears through a six pack of blood bags, a seventh. Maggie resets her arm, gives Carmilla something dark and cold to drink. You never let go of her hand, not until her bad shoulder is in a sling - Maggie demanding rest for the both of you. 

 

(you waver on your feet and realize how much you gave to her) 

 

\-- 

 

The bed is warm, Carmilla buries herself against you and she sleeps. You must too, for the sun has set the next time you wake. Carmilla has pressed against you, whimpering in her sleep- shepaid a heavy price, you realize. 

 

When she wakes, her arm is stiff but healed. Carmilla will not speak, but she kisses you gently. She rolls onto her back, buries her hand in your hair and guides your kisses. You do nothing more tonight than memorize her every inch. She is here. She is here. She is here. 

 

You do not cry when her head is resting against your shoulder, her hand splayed across your stomach. You are thankful she is alive. Scarred, but alive and “yours Laura. I am always yours.” 

 

You realize then, when you see a nearly full moon high in the sky, you would do anything to protect her. 

 

\--

 

You will turn twenty-two in between now, curled in bed with Carmilla reading by lamplight, and facing the apocalypse of the universe. 

 

“It's my birthday.” You say quietly, Carmilla flips a page and replies softly. 

 

“I know.” 

 

You look at her. 

 

She smiles, shrugs “Maggie told me.” 

 

You roll onto your back “Oh.” 

 

Carmilla finds your hand, lacing your fingers with hers “We don't have to do anything.” She promises. 

 

“It might be my last one.” You have realized this, all of a sudden and all at once. It has struck through you. 

 

You hear Carmilla set down her book, feel her kiss gently behind your ear. There are no words, for yours hold the heavy weight of reality in the pit of your stomach. 

 

“We are not dead yet.” Carmilla says finally, “Not yet.” 

 

You roll, press your forehead against hers and you kiss her “okay.” You smile. 

 

You are almost twenty two and you might die just as young. 

 

\-- 

 

There is a phone call from your father. He is on base and very busy, but you hear his voice crack when he says how much he loves you. How proud of you he is. How well you've taken to Chicago.

 

(come visit soon) 

 

(you promise you will) 

 

(you bury your head in Carmilla's neck and blink back tears) 

 

\-- 

 

Maggie makes a quiet dinner, full of your favourite foods and unhealthiest desserts. She waits until you and Carmilla have cleared the table to give you your gift. You do not notice Carmilla slip away. Maggie shows you a necklace, it shines as if new but you feel the history with it. 

 

“It was your mothers.” Maggie explains as you lift your hair for her “Her parents gave it to her when she was twenty one. Your father asked me to give it to you when you were the same age.” 

 

You feel the necklace settle against your chest and never have you treasured a gift more. Maggie pulls you into a tight hug, crushing you to her, telling you she loves you always. 

 

She knows. She knows. 

 

\-- 

 

Carmilla takes you back to her apartment. The room LaFontaine and Perry have occupied is empty - the end is coming and they are remembering why they fell in love. 

 

Rooms are cast with shadows, but Carmilla's hand is in yours and it is impossible to be afraid. She leads you to her bedroom. You follow, bare feet against hardwood and the soft sigh of the door in its frame brings this space into sharp contrast. 

 

You have always loved her window. The wall it replaces looks out onto the city, not quite to downtown, not quite anywhere else. You see a maze of city lights and feel Carmillas hands on your hips. You smile. 

 

“Hi.” You say quietly, shifting so Carmilla is between you and the window, so she is a shadow framed by light. 

 

Gently, delicate, you move the hair out of her face. You tuck it behind her ear and let your hand weave its way there, pulling her closer. She moves like water, a wave crashing against you. Carmilla fills your cracks “Hey.” She mumbles against your lips and you can feel her smile. 

 

You kiss her again. And again. 

 

You tip Carmilla onto the bed, she splays there, on her back, breathless and waiting for you. Her eyes are dark with a need only you can provide. Your clothed hips against hers. Your hands in hers. Your lips against hers. 

 

You give yourself to Carmilla. 

 

In those moments you live solely for the moans in her throat, the twitching in her hips, the way she gasps your name into the darkness. 

 

You give, she gives and together you take hours.

 

Eventually, finally, the room bright with the moon, she curls against your chest “Happy Birthday.” She whispers to your collarbone. 

 

You kiss her forehead “Thank you.” You tell her, one hand holding her close, watching as she plays with your (mothers) necklace “It might be the best one.” 

 

“You will have many more to experience.” She tells you. 

 

It is not a promise. It is a prayer. 

 

\-- 

 

You wake up and know the end is on your doorstep. Carmilla is asleep next to you, buried in blankets, unaware of your heart preparing to break your ribs. God, you might be sick. 

 

You are, sick, in the toilet. You know tonight is the day it all ends. One way, or another. Cool tiles press against your knees and you pant, squeezing your eyes shut because now it starts. 

 

\-- 

 

You are nearly shirtless, nearly naked. There is canvas across the kitchen floor, Carmilla perched atop the counter, LaFontaine next to her. They watch, Perry draws. 

 

Her fingers are cool against your skin as she draws the symbols. They are words from a lost language, one Perry might know alone. She will not tell you what they mean, only that they are from a language of light. A language where darkness did not exist. 

 

You want to ask what that means. 

 

She will not tell you, even if you did, so you do not ask. Instead you look to Carmilla, who looks to you and is your rock. She knows little more than you, Perry refusing to say more than she must. These are ancient rites she is overseeing, ancient, terrible rites. 

 

\-- 

 

You write three letters. To Maggie, to your father, to Carmilla. Each one labeled, each one sealed. You hope they never get opened. 

 

Carmilla watched you write hers, but you would not let her see inside. (do not destroy yourself.) (do lot lose yourself. you will never lose me, even if I am gone. I am always, eternally, yours) 

 

You kiss her. You kiss her. 

 

\--

 

“We have traffic to account for.” Perry says, ushering you all to the car. 

 

This is Chicago after all. 

 

You are painted, you have words of reckoning, words of destruction on your lips. You hide in the depths of a hoodie, but strangers still cast looks. As the city disappears, you feel calm wash through you. This is the end. 

 

Carmilla is in the backseat, holding your hand. She is dressed in black and leather, a shirt you gave her, her blackest, meanest boots. 

 

No one knows what to expect. 

 

The further you drive, the closer you get to the end of it all, the more you feel ready for this fate. You feel the power in the air, the dagger (ebony and silver) is strapped to your forearm. You will need to be close to drive it through Creyo’s heart. With it, you will destroy his very soul. 

 

\-- 

 

You arrive at the state park through a broken, unmapped entrance. Perry drives like she's been here before, the woods deepen, darken, like they know what is to come. 

 

The sun is setting. 

 

Perry parks short of a clearing. The silence twists your stomach into a tight knot and no one moves. 

 

“So,” Perry says “Everyone remembers the plan?” 

 

“Summon, fight, destroy.” LaFontaine says, they look to you “You've got this.” 

 

“We've got this.” You remind them, you all have roles, but really you want space. 

 

You want to be in the darkness of the forest alone for a moment. You leave them in the car, climbing out and taking your first breath of night air. You tip your head back, it is a cloudless night. Your camera is tucked in your hand, you brought it, out of comfort, out of habit.

 

\--

 

(You have a photo of Carmilla, black and white and haloed by city lights. She is shadows amongst shadows. She is yours) 

 

(You have a photo of her bed, the bed, it is as close to a holy land as you have ever known) 

 

(You have a photo of LaFontaine, hard at work, Perry beaming in the background.) 

 

(You have so many) 

 

\-- 

 

You hear soft footsteps, a deliberate choice from a Carmilla and you turn to her. You welcome her into your arms, kissing her. You are not afraid. 

 

“I'm ready.” You whisper, the magic is strong here, powerful, twisting itself to you already. It knows. 

 

“You are.” Carmilla nods, her hand grips to you “My love,” she starts, but words fail her. 

 

You kiss her “I know.” You promise. 

 

You kiss her. 

 

\-- 

 

You sit down in the clearing. The grass is thirsty and green beneath you, soft, it yields and you take a breath. The blade is strapped to your forearm, you feel it pressing against the painted flesh there. You take down the hood, strip it from your body exposing the paint to the moon. 

 

God.

 

This time things are different, you let unfamiliar words spill from your lips, over and over and over again. You will bring this monster to you. You will end this now, for good. 

 

The moon is high in the sky, you summon, breathe, and wait. 

 

\--

You feel him first, his darkness wrapping itself around the corners of your consciousness. Then you hear him. Whispered words that echo off your brain, “the end” he tells you, then shows you the horsemen of his apocalypse. 

 

Death. Dying. Darkness. People you love being ripped apart.

 

(Carmilla) (Maggie) (Your father) 

 

(No.) 

 

He shows them to you, every detail of their deaths displayed across your clouded eyes. You do not feel your body. You're no longer sure you have one. 

 

He has learned. He almost lost the last, he has moved to the place where magic will do you no good. 

 

He is inside of you, curling around and squeezing your soul. 

 

You are losing yourself. 

 

\-- 

 

You are lost, watching Maggie's heart being ripped from her chest. Your dad, never knowing, finding the bottom of the bottle again. Carmilla. Carmilla being consumed by this darkness, witnessing her own monstrosity unleashed upon you. 

 

Creyo is laughing in your ear. 

 

“You thought,” he says “you thought we would fight light and dark and good would triumph over evil.” 

 

You did. You did. You do. 

 

“You will never win child.” He whispers, “You are too weak.” 

 

How do you kill a monster with no body?

 

\--

 

There are things you will never know. Moments you will never see because darkness is consuming you. 

 

You will never hear Perry talk of needing the strength from all her lives to hold Carmilla back from your writhing body. (you are fighting a monster) You will never hear the words LaFontaine whispers, reading them from the book of the living without stopping, without breathing. 

 

You are only aware of the loss to come. 

 

\-- 

 

He has won. Almost. You are crippled by his darkness, his anger, he is the universe and you are only human. 

 

You are human. 

 

You are human. 

 

You cling to your humanity, those memories, the last thread in this unraveling life of yours. You have died before, you remember it well, you were not afraid of darkness then. The memory brings you peace. 

 

He, this monster, has invested in a plan. Too weak to take physical form, his only hope is you. You realize this and other things. 

 

You will die again. You are not afraid. 

 

You feel the cool press of ebony, it is easy to guide the blade to your beating heart. 

 

Somewhere, far, far away, you hear someone screaming your name. 

 

(it will echo in these woods for years to come, Carmilla's pain as she watches you sacrifice yourself to save the world)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> how are we all feeling? 
> 
> a little emotional? hang with me guys, I promise there is more to this story. 
> 
> To those who have left comments, thank you thank you thank you. They are the joys of this writers day. To everyone who has left kudos, you are also amazing! Thank you! And to everyone who has simply taken the time to read, you all make this story whole.
> 
> And as always, apologies for the shite formatting of this story. I can not for the life of me make this work how I want it to. If anyone has any suggestions I wouldn't be very grateful.


	3. Part III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings for violence, darkness and evil apply.

You have a choice. It is told to you by the voices of those who have witnessed the rise and fall of galaxies far more complex than your own. They speak as one voice, they the gods of gods. They the ones who turned on their own. On Creyo. 

They tell you of physics. 

Energy of gods can not be destroyed. Only deferred. 

And you have a choice. 

It is a choice few before you have faced. 

Dying and stay dead - Creyo returns to his prison, to be summoned and destroy on another day. 

Or accept the horrors you have seen. Accept the lifeblood of a god of gods. Allow it to course through your veins for time immortal. Be the saviour once again. Only one dies today they tell you. 

You have a choice. 

\-- 

You slam back into yourself. It is ash and dirt and the sound of Carmilla crying. Wet, ragged tears are streaming down your face as your back arches in pain. There is fire, something, spreading across your ribs. The space where you stabbed. You cry out, a throat already raw. 

_to balance a voice_ is saying _the darkness_

You can not think what it means. You can only gasp for air between sobs of pain and Carmilla takes your scrabbling hand. 

She will not lose you again. 

\-- 

You are carried to the car. In too much pain to bear your own weight. It is a Carmilla who lifts you easily. You cry into her shirt, the pain, the pain. 

Not from a wound. No, under the flashlight Carmilla's voice comes quiet. Asking, always asking, for permission to lift your shirt. You nod, you close your eyes, tip back your head, is being immortal supposed to hurt like this? 

Perry gasps. 

Your eyes snap to her, to LaFontaine. Last, to Carmilla. 

You dare to look down. 

Not a stab wound, no. Ink. Swirling, imbuing itself in you. The blade. Zubhra. The ebony blade you used to end this all, inked across your ribs. It glows and twists, you gasp in pain with every new line that appears. 

Your body is a battlefield. 

Darkness, Creyo and all his hate. 

Light, the first star and you. 

Intertwined. 

\-- 

You lay across the backseat, your head in Carmilla's lap. Her fingers run through your hair over and over and over again. 

There was talk of a hotel. It took one look from Carmilla to know where you were going. 

Home. 

You do not sleep, though your body aches for it. You press a kiss to her tear stained thigh and wonder how you will explain this newfound forever. 

\--

She asks if you can manage a shower. You feel it, the ashes, the dirt, the grime of a day you were never supposed to finish clinging to you. Somewhere you summon the energy to mumble against her ribs and Carmilla smiles gently. 

She helps you to the shower. 

Her fingers gentle across the fresh scar. Light as water races down the curves of your body. Carmilla washes your hair, you lean against her and try to find the words. 

\-- 

You lay in bed and can't sleep. You know she is still awake. 

“Carm,” you say, your first true words since the burning. 

“Yes love?” She whispers, rolling in your arms so your foreheads are pressed together. 

Tell her. Tell her. 

You don't tell her. 

You kiss her. 

Carmilla doesn't ask about the words she tastes on your lips. 

\-- 

Words seem stuck in your throat as the sun rises and the ink is healed and fresh against your skin. Carmilla long asleep next to you, the aparmemt quiet. The city still. 

The war is over. 

This is the new dawn. 

You will face a thousand new dawns, a million and still you will breath, the world will turn. 

Immortality is heavy on your shoulders. 

Your heart doesn't seem to know what to do with all that pressure. But it goes on. And on. One beat at a time. 

\-- 

The first night you return to Maggie's, she knows. She knows something has changed when Carmilla is not with you. When you pick at your dinner, barely talk and Leo curls in your lap. 

Perhaps it is the last of these that frightens her the most. 

You sleep in a bed that is unfamiliar, that feels empty without Carmilla. But times are hard when immortality and darkness are all that you have to carry. 

\-- 

It is not just the immortality that haunts you. You walk through the city and remember. You remember people dying. Not just your death, but everyone's. The triumph of Creyo’s terrible plan had played out across your eyelids. You had witnessed the death of stars, the murder of humanity and a thousand other races. It waits for you in the shadows, the corners of your mind where Creyos lifeblood beats strong. 

\-- 

You still have not told Carmilla. Or Perry. Or LaFontaine. Or anyone else. You have only mumbled words to your reflection, grappling with the reality of forever. How do you say it? 

There is no good way. 

Not when others are moving on. Trying. 

\-- 

It has been three weeks and the secret still sits heavy in your chest. It begs to be told, but you keep it pressed there, against your lungs. The world has resumed its chaos it seems - 

Perry and LaFontaine have finally moved out, and back together. 

LaFontaine has an exhibition at the MCA in January and is never around anymore anyway. Preparation, they say, so much work to do. 

Carmilla has resumed her photography. Apparently she's moving away from timelapse, perhaps the memory soured. She is working on portraits, which amuses you in the moments she comes home and declares she hates people. 

You are stuck. 

Without the oncoming end you are left bare. The reminder of a degree, but no job. No passions worth paying. Your thoughts are consumed by the immortality you chose. 

You chose. 

You still haven't spoken of it. 

\-- 

The secret has drawn you and Carmilla apart. The secret now a wall between and yet Carmilla keeps trying. Keeps trying to reach your pale, thin, quiet form. 

You are a shell of who you were. 

Maggie tries too. 

To talk, to reach out, to feed you. 

You do not eat. You do not talk. 

You are not okay. 

You are consumed by the darkness you willingly put inside yourself. This evil you chose to carry. You feel it everyday. 

\-- 

“Laura, you know you can always talk to me?” 

Of course you know, Maggie more than anyone else has been here for you. 

\-- 

“You're not okay. I may not always be clued in emotionally, but this,” she gestures to you pale and breaking “this isn't okay.” 

You say nothing. The truth is beating against its cage, but you do not free the words. 

\--

It culminates in a breaking point. 

A tipping point that changes everything. 

“Laura,” Carmilla says finally “please come eat.” 

You do not reply. You think about the times when talking was simple, when words did not betray you. A time when Carmilla was not a reminder of a secret you hold. 

(Tell her) 

“I'll be out in a minute.” 

It is a half response, the words distant. You are not talking to her, but to the space between you two. 

“You said that last night.” Carmilla points out “And the night before that.” 

“So?” 

She does not know food no longer matters. 

“You know,” Carmilla says quietly, moving from the frame to sit gently on the bed behind you “You know you can always talk to me.” 

(she is right. she has experienced horrors, knows the heavy weight of forever.) 

You do not reply. 

“Laura please.” She says, begs. 

You have reduced her to that. 

To begging. 

Darkness, hatred flares in your chest and you turn “I can't stay here” You say finally, and the answer comes in those words “I'm leaving.” 

(going is a good plan) 

(watching Carmilla's heart break is not) 

Walls come up, Carmilla looks at you “What happened?” She asks 

“Nothing.” 

(This is the first time you lie to Carmilla) 

"You're just finished?” 

“Yes.” 

(This is the second.) 

\-- 

It speaks to how far you are when Carmilla does not reach out to stop you. Perhaps she knows you are doing this, has sensed this is the end. You have been edging closer to this moment for weeks. The secret, pushing you further, and now the inescapable darkness has arrived. 

It is not the end of the world, merely yours and in this, Creyo has won. 

\-- 

You arrive in Graz in the afternoon. 

You fled the state, the country, the hemisphere to get away from the memories of forever, of Carmilla, of 

This is the first place you called home, this wild green countryside. A small village at the bottom of the mountains, you arrive in a rental car and have to pull over. It has been nearly a year since you last came. Since you visited your mothers grave, the house you grew up in, the village that wanted to raise you. 

It feels wrong to be here, but you have nowhere else to go. 

\-- 

You drive along winding streets and everything looks exactly the same. The post office, the grocery store, the bakery and the pub. The main road of this tiny town rolls past in the blink of an eye. 

Here, you are not suffocating,

\--

The house is as you remember it. Carefully maintained and clean, but cool in the autumn night. You shiver when you step through the door, pocketing the key. 

You have no reason to be here, to hide here. You feel dirty coming to this place to hide. 

You are brought to your knees by a welling of emotion from deep in your chest. You ache for lost things. 

Your mother. Your humanity. Carmilla. 

Two of those done with your own choosing. 

You sob onto the hardwood floor, curled around yourself. You have waited long weeks for this moment. For this feeling of grief. 

You cry. 

\-- 

You move to the couch, in slow, dragging movements. You and your fallen humanity, are you even human any more? 

You no longer know. 

Something has snapped and the perilous edge you had walked in Chicago, tethered only by familiarity, has crumbled away from you. This is the free fall, the long haul to the bottom. 

You are crashing. You are cursing your choices and you feel the darkness getting stronger inside of you. 

It twists with the magic in the air, god what you wish you could do. 

This house, what was once your home all those years ago, feels foreign. Is foreign. 

You are spiraling for an identity you do not have. 

\-- 

You spend days curled on the couch. Hunger comes and goes. The phone rings, mail arrives. You do not move. What is the point? 

You are lost in the darkness that moves through your veins. Maybe lost for all of eternity. 

\-- 

It is one week before you shower. 

You walk the stairs to the tiny bathroom and sink beneath the spray. You stand there, shaking and fragile, until the water runs cold. At least you're clean. 

It is the mirror that tells you, reflecting back the tattoo across your skin. The final words from gods of gods curl in your ears. 

_to balance_ they had said _the darkness_

There has been no balance. 

Only loss and loss and a powerful enemy inside of you pulling you away. 

\-- 

The people of the village recognize you, they smile and hug you and you speak a second language to lie to them. To tell them of graduation and your father and nothing of the darkness inside. 

Perhaps they see it anyway, for they always send you home with too much food, many free pastries. They care, they always have. 

\-- 

Maggie calls you. Sends letters. They pile up and you half expect her to show up one day and drag you to Chicago. 

You tell her you are fine.

(She doesn't believe you) 

(She calls every other day to make sure you're alive) 

\--

You walk at night, under the stars when the darkness is not as trapped beneath your ribs. It is easier to breath amongst the rows and rows of the dead. But you avoid where your mother lays. That is sacred ground, not meant for these moments. 

\-- 

One month and you live in a haze of reading and sleeping, drowning in the bathtub until you realize your lungs will never burn like they used to.

You do not notice the passing of time. 

Why does it matter? 

You have all but stopped going into town, buying cookies and milk because at least that doesn't make you feel sick. 

\--

One month and four nights in, you hear a pounding on the front door. You do not open it. Not until you hear Perrys voice shouting, Perry's voice telling you she will break this door down. 

You open the door. 

She is standing there in all her power and somehow you're not even surprised she's known exactly where you are. 

“What do you want?” You ask 

Perry gives you a long once over, taking in how much weight you've lost, how bloodshot your eyes are. 

“You don't look well.” She says 

“No,” you sigh, stepping aside “No I suppose I don't.” 

Perry walks in and turns to look at you “Is this how you're going to spend eternity?” She asks sharply “Hiding in your childhood home, not taking care of yourself, handing your soul over to Creyo?"

She knows? 

“Of course I know.” Perry snaps “I knew the moment you chose. I waited, hoped you would say something, there are ways to help you with this. Instead you said nothing, you pushed us all away, broke Mircalla’s heart. Fled here,” She gestures around her “and are doing what?” 

You have nothing to say, so stunned by the fact that Perry knew. 

“Well never mind,” Perry says sharply “there's no time for that.” 

“What are you here for?” 

Perry levels you with a long look “Do you remember Mircallas mother?” 

“I've never met her,” Perry knows that “but I know the stories.” 

You remember Carmilla dying on your dining room table, the breaking of your skin so she may survive. 

“In light of your, breakup, Carmilla went on a bit of a killing spree. She's gotten herself in a whole lot of trouble with her mother. And,” Perry hesitates “and I believe Lilita intends to torture Carmilla to death.” 

Your legs are shaking. 

Oh god. 

“I believe Carmilla knew that when she started killing.” 

Oh god. 

\-- 

LaFontaine is attempting to stay positive, a transatlantic rescue mission merely weeks before their exhibit premiers was not in their list of things to do. You are grappling with what you've done. With the effects your actions have had. 

Carmilla, suicidal, willing to die at the hands of her mother. 

You did that. 

You close your eyes. 

“Besides your immortality,” Perry is saying “which has obvious benefits, you're also one of the most skilled sorcerer's I've seen in a long time. Lilita can not use magic, but she has her own dangerous skills.” 

You need to fix this. 

You need to explain to Carmilla the truth, your truth. 

(You love her) 

(You love her) 

\-- 

Two days pass between Perry's arrival and your departure to Silas. In that time Perry makes you eat “You won't save anyone if Lilita snaps you like a twig.” 

It feels like two days too many, but you think about a Carmilla being tortured and you know you need strength for this. After two days Perry says it's time. 

As you dress, the ink against your skin burns and glows. You do not have time to think about it, Carmilla is all that sits on your mind. 

\-- 

Lilita lives deep in the woods. One of her many homes. This, her darkest property in the collection. Silas, the crown of her estate. The trees are pressed tight and close together. Little light filters through to the forest floor. 

Perry drives and says “She will already know of our presence.” 

There is a burning inside of you, driven by the need to fix this, to save Carmilla from the death course you set her upon. 

“Good.” You say. 

Perhaps you should be afraid. 

You're not. 

\-- 

The house rises above you, curtained windows shut, the front door open. 

“I'll be here,” LaFontaine says grudgingly “Ready to get the hell away.” 

You climb out of the car, Perry falls into step next to you. 

It's too quiet. 

“She knows.” Perry says. 

A shadow twitches in the corner of your eye and you are pulling it into the air before you hear the screams. 

A vampire. 

“One of her many.” Perry tells you. 

You hurl him into the darkness, trees fall as he crashes through them. 

You have forgotten the feel of magic in your veins. 

\-- 

You bear witness to Perry pulling the souls from two more vampires. You watch her crush them in her hands. That, that scares you. 

They come in pairs, in fours and you set them alight before they get too close. The fire burns and the darkness inside you tenses. This light has always been strong in your hands, in your very being. 

You char an entire hallway with Perry dispatching of five more vampires. This is exhausting but you think of Carmilla dying and the fires burn brighter. 

\-- 

You fight the onslaught and they refuse to die. Your magic wounds, Perry's power makes them stumble and finally, finally, the silence falls. 

“Isn't this fun,” a voice says from the spiral staircase “oh Lillian, it has been too long.” 

Perry looks up, as do you. 

Lilita Morgan strides down the staircase. She is the embodiment of a shadow. The last traces of her humanity lost years and years ago. You see her fangs and know this is when you should be afraid. 

But you can not die. 

“Lilita.” Perry says, nods to you “Laura Hollis.” 

Apparently the rules of engagement involve introductions. 

“How many items have I killed you Lillian, and you keep coming back?” 

“Where is Carmilla?” Perry asks, she ignores the question although her jaw clenches at the mention of her deaths. 

“Oh is this a rescue?” Lilita laughs, it sends shivers down your spine “You went and found the ex girlfriend, that's quaint. You have always been foolish to believe in humanity's goodness.” 

“Where is Carmilla?” You ask, starring Lilita down, fire twisting around both of your hands. 

You blink and Lilita is gone. She is behind you. Her shadow rises tall against your own “Little Mircalla is paying the price for her foolishness.” She hisses in your ear “And you think you can save her?” 

You think you can try. And try. 

You carry the silence easily, on and on. 

“The dungeon,” Lilita relents, amused at this little game “I'm a traditionalist. I'll even give you a head start.” 

\-- 

The dungeon is a maze, a literal stone and torchlit maze. 

You are running, following Perry's lead. 

Nothing Lilita has done can match what Creyo promised he would do. Those images still flicker in your mind, haunting you, driving you, preparing you. 

At the center of it all is a door. 

“Here.” Perry whispers. 

It takes a moment of magic from your hand to unlock the door. It swings open silently, revealing more torch light. 

And Carmilla.

\-- 

Her head snaps up, eyes feral and dark. There is blood and gleaming silver chains, you barely recognize her. The chains have wrapped themselves around her, torture you can not even imagine, pain. There are instruments along the wall you do not have time to recognize. 

You watch Carmilla struggle to herself, “Perry,” Carmilla gasps “What-” her eyes flit to you “No. You have to go, get her out of here.” She barely sounds like herself, every word a battle to force from her lips. 

Lilita appears and you can only tell from the way Carmilla's eyes widen, and the fangs that rest in your neck. 

“Are you watching Mircalla?” Lilita taunts 

“Mama please,” you hear the begging, the pleading from Carmilla. 

The world slows. You are calm, you are ready. You have faced her creator, this is nothing. You move with Lilita, who places you front and center, you look into Carmilla's eyes, she is straining against the bonds that hold her. Desperate to drink from you, you know. 

You summon the fire again, lash it like a whip as Lilita sinks her fangs into the soft flesh of your neck. 

Carmilla screams, it is a terrible sound. Animalistic hunger, the pain of watching you bleed. 

You feel the blood, but no pain. No pain at all. You look to Lilita, who staggers backwards, damping out flames in her dress. 

“What?” She says, eyes wide with surprise, a mouthful of blood on the floor. 

“Perry!” You shout “Get-” 

You do not need to say it, Perry knows. You have engaged Lilita now, surprised her with your strength and she is blind with the fury. 

It is a whirlwind of distraction, Lilita is a force you have never met, but must rise above. You use fire and ice and every trick you have ever been taught about magic, but most fail. 

She is quick.

For every hit you make, she equals you. What should kill you merely takes it toll. 

You see Perry carrying all of Carmilla out, the chains rest simply on the floor and with Carmilla screaming your name, you have an idea. 

You can not kill Lilita, no, she is much too strong. But you can trap her. 

She doesn't seem to notice as you shift, move, get her there, level with the chains. Y

They are heavy against your magic, but they lift. You are gasping with the effort, your tattoo, the blade, burning bright against your side. 

You are too close. 

Lilita, in her last moment of freedom reaches. 

She plunges her hand through your rib cage, breaking your bones with ease. You gasp, watch as she rips your heart out. 

It sits there, beating in her hand. 

And you do not fall. You stare at her, she stares at you. 

This, you realize, is immortality. 

You lock the chains around Lilita and listen to her scream. 

\-- 

You run out of the house holding your beating heart in your hands. You are staring at it, almost stumble down the steps. You trip into the car and LaFontaine slams their foot down onto the gas. Your heart lands in a Carmilla's lap. 

She is staring at it, at you. You stare back. She is so pale, haunted, in pain. There is a collection of bloodbags at her feet. 

“I don't understand.” She says weakly. 

You feel Perry looking at you. 

This, is is what you should have said weeks and weeks ago. 

“Killing Creyo,” you say, breathing hard, “to keep him dead, I had to take his lifeblood. I - I can't die.” 

Carmilla looks at your heart in her lap “I can see that.” She says quietly. 

She passes out. 

You look at Perry, worried. 

“Her body needs to recover.” Perry says. 

You do not take your heart back. 

It beats against Carmilla's hand. You feel it there. 

You feel the pain of your ribs, your heart, come barreling through you. Good gods. Adrenaline fading you let tears roll down your cheeks as your body contends with the injuries. 

\-- 

The house you grew up in has never been so full. Carmilla has been unconscious for two days. For two days you have sat by her side, siphoned blood into her mouth. You haven't slept. You can't. 

You apologise to her when the house is asleep and the moon is shining through the window. Your voice echoes quiet, your words are shaking, but honest, true. You know the day will come when you have to say them all again. 

You want to hold her hand, but don't know if you have that right. 

This is, after all, your fault. 

\-- 

“Why didn't you tell me?” 

Carmilla's voice shakes you from your daze. You sit up sharply, she is awake, studying you. Her hand is so close to yours. 

“I didn't know how.” You tell her honestly. 

(you will not lie again) 

In another breath you apologise “I should never have left.” You say, searching her face “I'm sorry.” 

“I did hear the first ten times you said that.” Carmilla replies “I was unconscious, not deaf.” 

“I-” 

“I went on a hundred year killing spree when I became a vampire.” Carmilla says through your words “You didn't kill anyone, and saved me.” 

“You wouldn't have needed saving if i hadn't left.” 

Carmilla nods, takes your hand “Not this time, no.” 

You squeeze her hand, close your eyes again. Open them, meet her gaze. 

You do not expect her to forgive you for leaving as you, not all at once and perhaps not at all. The reasons for your darkness, for your disappearance may explain, but they do not excuse. That you know. 

You know she sees still the weight you've lost, the way the darkness has, had been, consuming you. 

She is looking at you, doesn’t speak. 

Carmilla studies you for a long time.

“Carm,” you say into her silence “I'll understand if you don't want to see me again.” That much you mean “But I-” 

“You gave me a chance.” Carmilla says, abruptly “You heard my sad tale and didn't run away. But when you did, Laura, it was like awakening to the reality of my own monstrosity again. I didn’t care what happened to me.”

You feel hot tears in your eyes. 

“It is a terrible thing to realize the person who means the world to you doesn't share that sentiment.” 

(oh but you do.) 

“But,” she continues “here we are. Perry came and LaFontaine came and they, they I expected. But you, I didn't expect you. I didn't expect you to face off with my mother, to put all of yourself between her and me.” She is quiet for a beat “Immortality or no, people don't get their hearts ripped out for someone they don't love.” 

She is right. 

“I don't deserve you,” you say quietly “but will you take me back?” 

“I'm not sure I can.” She says, you freeze, “You are different,” Carmilla continues “from the human I fell in love with eight months ago. But I think, I think you and I now, can give us a chance.” She pulls you slowly into bed with her. 

The burden of forever is halved by those you share it with. You pull Carmilla into your arms and feel that weight lift. 

\-- 

There is the issue of your beating heart. 

It's sitting on the kitchen table, a query for a rainy day “So,” you ask, “Do I just put it back?”

You are shirtless, your ribs have healed where they were broken, but there is no heart behind them. 

“You could try eating it.” LaFontaine suggests. 

You visibly grimace. 

“Just throwing ideas out there.” They say 

There is the idea of breaking your ribs and putting it back. The idea of keeping it in a jar. Neither sit well. 

Instead you take your heart in your hands “I know what I'm going to do.” You say quietly “There's someone I want you to meet.” You tell Carmilla.

You, your heart, and Carmilla walk through the quiet streets. It is nearly midnight, but the prospect of darkness doesn't scare you so much any more. Carmilla does not ask, she follows your lead. Through cemetery gates, down a winding path to a small plot. 

You use your phone to illuminate the headstone. 

“My mother.” You say, swallowing through the lump in your throat “I want to leave my heart here.” 

“That's a great idea.” Carmilla says. 

You take the shovel from her hand, starting digging, talking quietly. 

“I, uh, know it's been a while mom.” You voice shakes “A lot has happened recently, dad doesn't know yet. I'm uh,” the words stick to your lips “I won't ever die.” You finally say “I had to do it. To fix something I started.” 

The hole is small, but deep. You sit next to it, place your heart into the earth “I had my heart ripped out by my girlfriends mom.” You say and hear Carmilla choke because that's how you explain it “It's more complicated than that,” you admit quietly as Carmilla sits next to you “But her name is Carmilla, my girlfriend. She's a vampire and mom, she makes me so happy. I - messed up and really hurt Carmilla. But - she's giving me a second chance. I've got all the time in the world to make it up go her.” 

You look at your beating heart. 

This feels fitting. 

\-- 

You walk through the empty town and tell Carmilla of your mother, of your life here. All the places you used to know, used to go. She listens, she smiles, she kisses you under the bakery sign. 

You are shaking, pull her close, god you missed this. 

“Tell me,” Carmilla whispers “when the darkness is too much.”

You nod, kiss her again. There are tears soaking her shirt and you kiss her a third time under the bakery sign. 

You have quite literally forever to do this, and you're sure you will never tire. 

\-- 

You fly back to Chicago, Maggie picks you up at the airport and she has so many questions. Carmilla is by your side, still, somehow. You promise Maggie answers, and drive through the city. 

It feels like a foreign place, walking through that door like you did all those months ago in March. Yet much remains the same. Leo has returned to hating you, the garden is buried under snow. Maggie's house is still home. 

You wonder where to start with your story. 

You think of arriving at her house, of the quiet burden you shouldered then, and start there. With those moments. 

You talk for hours. 

You tell her of Creyo, of dying, of choosing immortality. You explain leaving and ignoring her calls and having your heart ripped out. You tell her of burying your beating heart with your mother. 

Maggie takes it all in. 

She says nothing, then “at least I can stop forcing you to eat your vegetables.” 

You laugh with tears in your eyes and Maggie pulls you into a tight, tight hug. 

“I love you.” She reminds you. 

You know. You know. 

\-- 

There are still hard moments. Carmilla remembers your leaving so clearly, so painfully. This may be a second chance, but you have to earn it. There are boundaries, you haven't stayed at her apartment since you both got back. 

You pick her up for dates, she takes you out to the zoo. 

You talk about everything. Over tacos you tell her about Danny, about how she looked at you as something that needed protecting. How witnessing the fullest of you against Creyo had challenged her. 

How walking away brought you to Chicago. 

\-- 

It is two nights later, over wings, that Carmilla tells you what she did with all of her pain. You listen as she does not blame you, although it is your fault. She speaks quietly, carefully, of people dead. She says she didn't care what happened to her. 

You try not to cry. 

That is the first night you go back to her apartment. It is nearly Christmas, the city is full of the holiday season and the nights are nearly always frozen.

She invites you back as you're walking down the streets, hand in hand. You know what she's implying, what she's giving you with that question. 

You say yes. 

You kiss her. 

\-- 

Later, you moan her name to the ceiling and tighten your hand in her hair, pressing your hips into her mouth. You remember this as the part where your heart would deafen your ears. Instead, in the absence of that, you hear only her body on yours, your body on hers. 

You give, and she gives and you take back what you both thought you had lost. 

\-- 

Carmilla comes to the unofficial Christmas lunch. Which means frozen appetizers from Costco, lots and lots of chocolate and Christmas movies late into the night. 

She brought Maggie a very old, very expensive bottle of wine, and only after Maggie fills two wine glasses, agrees to drink it as well. It's not quite your style, but you sip Carmilla's and then find some alcohol of your own. 

You get progressively and incredibly drunk for Christmas Eve and when you finally stagger up the stairs to bed, Carmilla mumbles against your neck that she hasn't had a Christmas like this in three hundred and thirty seven years. 

\-- 

New Year's Eve is less of a party and more of a not so quiet night in with Perry and LaFontaine. There are board games and alcohol and Carmilla claiming that she was there when they invented Monopoly so yes she does know the original rules. 

Perry tries to back her up but can't get through the sentiment without breaking into hysterical laughter. 

\--

You bring in the New Year kissing Carmilla against the window. There are fireworks behind your eyes and her hands under your shirt. You hope, think, that this year will be better than the last. 

\--

“Laura, Carm’s here.” Maggie calls upstairs like you haven't already gotten a text from Carmilla telling you that very thing “I want a photo.” 

Like this is the prom or something. 

You walk down the stairs and there, to the nines, is Carmilla. You falter there, eyes wide “You look,” you say, trying to find the words “amazing.” 

If she could blush, Carmilla would. There's the smile that curls along the edges of her lips. She's hasn't managed to come up with words yet. Her eyes are wide and that, that says it all. 

“You two look,” Maggie says, voice watery. 

“Stunning.” Carmilla finishes, breathless. 

\-- 

You press Carmilla up against the car and kiss her. You can not help it. She is, she looks amazing. There is a smirk against your lips, her voice low in your ear “There is plenty of time for that, but LaFontaine will be quite upset if we don't make it to their opening.” 

You are half tempted to be late. 

“I hate it when you're right.” You say between kisses. 

“I don't think you do.” 

She's right, again. 

\-- 

The MCA is packed when you arrive. Carmilla has the car valeted, you didn't think art openings had this much press. 

“They're revolutionary.” Carmilla explains “Turns out all they needed was the end of the world to hurry things along.” 

There is guilt, in the rush of it you had all but forgotten about the lives everyone had before you. The words to describe this sit on the tip of your tongue until you see LaFontaine. 

They are radiant. 

“I'm so glad you guys could make it.” They say, pulling you both into hugs “Take a look around, let me know what you think.” 

“Of course.” You both promise, and step inside. 

\-- 

Revolutionary, it seems, is an understatement. 

The spread of rooms are darkened, the only illumination comes from water. Water that glows, that shifts, that flickers before your very eyes. You have never seen something like this. 

You watch water chase itself through the phases of matter. Solid chases liquid chase gas chase solid. It is hypnotizing. 

When you tear yourself away, you see Carmilla smiling. 

“It is everything they said it would be.” She says to you “The truest blend of science and magic the world has seen in over a century.” 

And, you note, she would know. 

\-- 

The MCA has given three rooms to LaFontaines work and still it doesn't seem to be enough. The people are enchanted, they are challenged, they are enthralled. 

Your favourite piece, the one you drag Carmilla back to, the one LaFontaine finds you in front of, is the changed. A waterfall tips from the ceiling, sending a stream cascading down in unnatural shapes, dispersing into vapor as it hits the floor, disseminating, spreading across the room, licking up the walls as ice. It is incredible. 

“So?” They ask, somehow nervous. 

“Your manipulation and presentation of the phases of matter as it relates to humanity's own fluctuation is amazing.” 

You stare at Carmilla, of course she sees the true words behind the art. 

“It's amazing.” You follow up with. 

It brings LaFontaine near tears. 

\-- 

You have not wrapped your head around infinity, around time, endless stretching on before you. World events will happen and you, you will bear witness to triumphs and tragedies of humanity. Of what you can not even dream, will happen. It makes your head spin when you think about it for too long. 

Tonight you can not escape the thoughts, they loop lazily around your mind. The view from this building should be taking your breath away, the bar far nicer than you have ever been inside. Tens of stories above the city, the gridded lights spread out below you. 

Somewhere Perry is buying expensive champagne and you know you should be toasting success, but - 

“You're awfully quiet.” Carmilla says, appearing by your side, your hand sliding around her waist. 

“Up here,” you say “looking down at all the lights, the cars. It reminds me that there people, people with lives, with families, friends. People with birthdays. People,” you say quietly, “Who will die.” 

“People who would already have died if not for you.” Carmilla reminds you “This moment, and all the moments coming for us all, are because of you.” 

It is a balance, you think, the weight of forever, with the weight of the lives lived in the light. 

You kiss Carmilla, who smiles. With her you have both, and that, that takes your breath away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's all folks. 
> 
> All mistakes are my own, thank you for joining me on what was quite a journey. I started off writing a different story entirely, and was forty thousand words in before I found this particular tale. 
> 
> To those of you who have dropped reviews, I will reply to you all within the next few days. To everyone who gave kudos, you are all legends. And again, to all of my readers, you make this story whole.

**Author's Note:**

> apologies for the spacing issue. I'm working off an iPad and it is not the friendliest with ao3.
> 
> enjoy.


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